A lesson
by QueenOfMischief13
Summary: Vampire Adam from Only lovers left alive


A LESSON

It's hard to read the sheet music as I tap the piano keys. My shoulders are rigid as I bite my lower lip in concentration, trying to focus on the black notes I can hardly make out in the dim light because I don't want to screw up. My teacher is an unusual man, someone that I probably wouldn't associate with outside of our lessons, but I really want to please him. Maybe it's because he's young and hot, with a preference for black leather that makes me weak in the knees. I can't say that he shares my sentiments though. I'm just a college student who is only learning to play the piano for a theater piece. Despite our numerous lessons, I still mess up the very basic of songs and my playing is not elegant. My teacher is kind enough not to say anything but I know he finds our time together an utter bore.

The tip of my tongue finds its way in between my lips, bobbing to the melancholy rhythm as I play. Though I hardly notice it, Adam is suddenly restless. He has been skulking in the corner, no doubt wincing as I botch Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata beyond recognition, but now he finally steps out from the shadows.

"Stop," he commands. He doesn't yell but his hard baritone voice is enough to make my hands freeze.

I glare. Honestly I had done worse in the past and Adam let me charge through it without comment. When I play it's easy to forget how gorgeous my teacher is. Now it's all I can think about as I look at him and I can feel my heart start to pound. At first I was a little uneasy by the tall, lanky, mysterious man who offered piano lessons in his home that looked like it was prime real estate for a horror movie. After a couple of lessons my initial anxiety disappeared. Adam is just a really quiet and frighteningly intense man who remains painfully oblivious of my crush on him.

"That thing you're doing with your tongue," he says. "It's distracting."

I stare at him, confused, until it clicks and my face heats up. He has been watching me all this time and suddenly I can't look at him any longer. My eyes snap back to the old piano and I flex my stiff fingers over the worn keys. "Sorry," I murmur. "It's just a habit."

Adam comes closer, his movements both noiseless and unhurried as he crosses the cluttered living room. I'm absolutely still when his large, elegant hands find a place on my shoulders. The heat wave that is roasting Detroit has left me in a skirt and a tank top and suddenly I'm very conscious of all the skin I have unmindfully publicized in my desire to remain cool. "This would be easier if you practiced."

I nip the snarky retort in the butt before it can slip past my lips. "Yeah," I murmured and quickly positioned my hands over the keys before starting the song over. I go slower now, hyper-aware of the cold touch of his biker gloves on my body and the man standing so close behind me. I lick my lips nervously and end up missing a note.

I wince. Fuck.

Adam leans down and breaths, "Try again," into my ear.

My mind goes blank for a moment. I swallow thickly, shake the tremors from my fingers, and begin again from the top. All the while I'm desperately trying not to focus too hard on Adam and the nervousness chewing at my stomach. I'm several lines into the song when I feel the hand slowly drift down the straight line of my spine, his fingertips paying attention to the boney knots and discovering, yes, that I had forgone a bra today.

Shit.

I'm so tense I feel like a can snap at any moment. My anxiety rattles my self-confidence and I make another mistake. Once more my teacher is reprimanding me, his low, smooth voice overwhelming my senses. "You need to practice more."

"Sorry," I murmur. By now my face is on fire yet I don't want him to stop touching me. I'm caught somewhere between embarrassment and excitement, and it's simply not fair.

I start over, carefully, focusing too hard on the sheet music ahead of me as Adam's deliberate touch makes my stomach do wild flip-flops. His hands are all over me, gradually becoming bolder with each passing note. He traces my shoulders with feather-light strokes; squeezes my slim neck between his fingertips to ease away the tightness; charts the hairline that's visible because my hair is up; even plays with the straps on my tank top and cheekily pulls them back one by one to snap it lightly against my skin. I sigh, eyes fluttering shut, and miss another note, when his gloved hands sneak under my arms to palm my breasts through my shirt.

"Again," he instructs in a velvety purr. He's so close I can feel his cool lips move against my ear and his voice makes me want to melt.

I told as I'm told even though it's getting harder to think. His hands remain where they are and I start to tremble when I feel my nipples harden under his encouraging fingertips. I gasp, squirm on the bench, and try to tap out the first couple of notes but it's hopeless. I'm too distracted by his touch and the growing restlessness between my legs.

He kneads my breasts, perfect mounds that fit within his large palms, and I enjoy the sensation. When his thumbs begin to toy with my nipples I moan softly. He pinches them, rolling them between his fingers, as he kisses the back of my neck. My spine arches automatically into his touch. He chuckles low in my ear and hot desire tickles my insides. He presses more kisses into my skin of my neck, shoulders, shoulder blades and I'm desperately aware of his stubble grazing my skin. I lick my chapped lips, wanting more but not sure if I should tell him. This feels so deliciously wrong that I can't get enough of it. It's addictive.

I'm shaking when his hands eventually fall away from my tender breasts. They trail downwards to settle on my hips. "Stand up for me," his voice vibrates in my ear as he guides me to my feet. He has me lean against the piano with my weight resting on my hands, as he roughly kicks the bench out from under me. He sits down, his long legs settling on either side of mine and I gulp. For one unbearably long moment his hands fiddle with the hem of my shirt and I gasp silently when they slip inside, roaming up my torso to cup my breasts once more, rubbing and pinching my skin anew until I'm whimpering and swaying restlessly into his touch.

When his hands leave me once more, I'm more than a little frustrated. It doesn't last long. I feel his fingers gently skim up my thighs, the fingertips of his leather gloves sliding across my soft skin, until they slip under my skirt. Unlike his earlier unhurried pace, he isn't coy about stripping me of my panties.

"Adam," I gasp, horribly aware and mortified about how wet I've become. My face heats up tenfold as I feel my lacy underwear drop to the floor. His hands caress my backside firmly and I bite my lower lip to quiet the moans bubbling in the back of my throat. When his searching fingers do find their way to the swollen lips of my cunt, I can't help but whimper.

He teases me with skill that makes me a trembling mess. I bend forward a little more, my legs spreading automatically to offer more of my body to him and earning myself a low grunt of approval. His long fingers slip between my thighs as he seeks out my clit, easily locating it. My fingers curl and my spine arches. He presses against the sensitive nub, gently messaging little circles against it that make shuddering moans escape my throat every time I try to breathe. That's the only warning I get before he begins to rub. I collapse against the piano, too distracted by the pleasure he is giving me to hold myself up anymore. Just when I feel like I could come from this alone, he slips a finger inside me, fucking me roughly until I'm tossed over the edge.

There is nothing to hold onto as I come.

I'm hot and breathless in the blissful aftermath of my orgasm and Adam is surprisingly gentle as me eases me onto his lap. I fall against him and feel his erection press against my thigh.

"Now imagine," he says, looking me dead in the eyes, "what I could do to you if you played the damned song correctly for once."


End file.
